


Lost

by Ms_Snubble



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anger Management, Angst, Drabble, F/M, Former Oneshot, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Mental Health Issues, Not Epilogue Compliant, POV Alternating, Person of Color Hermione Granger, Song: When the Party's Over (Billie Eilish), Songfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-08-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:01:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23446693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Snubble/pseuds/Ms_Snubble
Summary: It was the third time this week that he'd lost his temper with her resulting in the current state of the flat. Their sanctuary. It was virtually unrecognizable, so unlike the cosy space that she had painstakingly cultivated. And for what? Because she was going to lunch with Ronald Weasley. Again.A ficlet inspired by when the party's over by Billie Eilish
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 13
Kudos: 55





	1. Chapter 1

> _ Don't you know I'm no good for you? _

It was the third time this week that he had lost his temper with her resulting in the current state of the flat. Their sanctuary. It was virtually unrecognizable, so unlike the cosy space that she had painstakingly cultivated. And for what? Because she was going to lunch with Ronald Weasley.  _ Again. _

_ “I’ll be going to lunch with Ronald tomorrow,” she’d said with her back to him, slowly removing the emerald studded earrings that he’d given her. The most recent in a slew of physical apologies. _

_ “Why the fuck would you be going anywhere with him?” he couldn’t stop the anger that bled into his tone, the jealousy that warped his mind and sharpened his tongue. _

_ He didn’t miss the pause she took to steady herself. Didn’t miss the way her hands shook as she gently returned the precious stones to the overly large jewellry box, crammed with all manner of trinkets he’d showered her in. She wore each thing once. Unlike his mother it wasn’t a statement of wealth but an acknowledgement of the present. She never fawned over the gifts, never flashed them at society events. She wore each piece the day after he’d given her and that was it. The only jewelry she wore with any consistency was a locket that framed her and the idiots she called friends. _

_ His anger surged anew. _

_ “Draco, we’ve been over this. Ronald is my friend and might I remind you that we often work together. Besides, Ginny cancelled at the last minute and it would be rude for me to stand him up when we’ve had these plans for some time now.” _

_ “So you’re keeping things from me now?”  _

_ It wasn’t a question so much as it was an accusation. He knew he was out of line. That he didn’t have any right to interrogate her in this way but he couldn’t help it. He watched her with a hawkish intensity as she turned slowly to face him, shoulders squared and jaw tilted up in indignation. _

_ “Draco, I don’t have the time to tell you about every little thing that comes up in my life. Ronald is  _ **_my friend_ ** _ and-” _

_ “Don’t fucking give me that shit, Granger.” _

_ The sound of her mouth snapping shut around the rest of her sentence was audible even from where he was across the room and he waited with growing anticipation for her response. For the fiery sting of her ire that never came. She’d stood perfectly still for but a moment more, and then suddenly she was gone. _

And why? Because of Ronald Weasley.

* * *

> _ I've learned to lose you, can't afford to _

The first time that she had left in the wake of his insurmountable rage had been for an excruciating 45 minutes. Her departure made itself known in the loud crack that reverberated around the sitting room. He’d immediately panicked that he’d finally proven everyone right. Had lost the one person who he knew he didn’t deserve. Yet she’d come home and he’d apologized with the worship that he showed her body. With tongue and teeth and desperate pleas for her to stay, just stay.

What should have stopped him had only been a catalyst for his decline into further fits of rage, into the never-ending anger just beneath his skin. Sometimes she rose to the bait, knowing full well that he was goading her but she was just like him in that way. She was always up for a good fight.

This time had been different. She hadn’t raised her voice, hadn’t lost her patience, she’d been suspiciously calm, provoking the sadistic part of him to dig deeper, to prod more at the weak points, to pry open the calm of her disposition to see the pulsating, bleeding fire that he knew was just below. Just like him. Instead, she’d left, a small bag in hand, without so much as a backwards glance.

That had been two days ago. 

* * *

> _ Tore my shirt to stop you bleedin' _

On the third day of her absence, he’d swallowed what was left of his pride and made his way to the Potter residence, an ostentatious bouquet of white tulips in hand. Potter didn’t bother to hide his opinion on the matter. His disdain was as clear as the silvery, infamous scar on his overblown head. Not that it mattered. All that mattered was getting Granger home. The moment he saw her left him winded. Every single emotion he’d dealt with in her absence rushed to the fore, it overwhelmed him.

No emotion slipped by her guarded expression, but the tightening of her hands on the rails gave her away. The longing to touch her, to have her back made his skin itch, his jaw clench.

“Who’s there Harry?”

He tore his eyes away from Hermione to see none other than the giant ginger oaf lumbering down the stairs, coming to a stop just behind her. It was clear that Weasley had spent the night. 

“What the fuck is he doing here, Granger?”

He barely registered shouldering his way past Potter and into the foyer. Or the way the shorter man was trying to run interference. Her clothes were rumpled, the lines of sleep still creasing her puffy face and her hair a veritable nest. She looked as she always did when he’d ravished her, the knowledge of his revelation unleashing a surge of magic that turned his carefully crafted apology to a mass of burnt petals and smouldering leaves.

“Oi, fuck off Malfoy!”

“Ron, Draco, stop, just stop!”

He wished that he could have heeded her cries. Wished that his anger hadn’t propelled him rushing past her to throttle Weasley.

For once he wished she’d stop him.

* * *

  
  


> _ But nothin' ever stops you leavin' _

He’d come home the following evening with a strange sense that something was awfully wrong. Spell after spell had revealed that no one was currently there. But Hermione had been. He didn’t need a spell to tell him that, the faint smell of her favoured perfume still clung to the air long after she’d departed.

The perfume that usually sat on their boudoir. 

* * *

> _ Quiet when I'm comin' home and I'm on my own _
> 
> _ I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that _

The quiet that ensconced the flat was unnerving. He felt exposed and vulnerable in the nothingness, stripped of the layers of balmy contentment that she brought. Gone was the easy comfort that came with her aimless prattling about the latest discovery that she’d made between the pages of some long-forgotten tome. The incessant purring of the squash faced orange terror that she insisted was a cat. The little noises that breathed life into this prison.

He began to resent the fading sunlight each evening, a reminder that he ought to return to the emptiness of his apartment. To a place that was no longer his home.

* * *

> _ I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that _

On a night with too many drinks and too little caution, Blaise had told him that he was better off for it. Granger didn’t deserve him if a little tiff could send her running back to Weasley, Blaise had said. Not the stuff good brides were made of he’d asserted, as they downed another whiskey. In his drunken stupor, Draco had nodded along. Afterall, no one but him would know that he was lying to himself.

* * *

> _ Don't you know too much already? _

Lonely nights with the scent of her rapidly fading on their sheets led to dreams of how they’d been, how they’d reconnected after all these years. Her self righteous testimony at his trial. The headstrong refusal to let him suffer for the sins of his sire. Her honesty and conviction though once abrasive had been alluring. So against the grain that he’d been bred and raised to follow. In truth it was her ruthless righteousness, burning as bright as the anger that festered inside him that had trapped him.

Insinuating himself in her life should have been harder than it was. He was an almost convict with a ruthless father and prejudiced upbringing. A self-proclaimed snake more ambitious than kind. Often in those early days, he felt stripped of all pretences when she looked at him, those big amber eyes looking beyond the well-crafted face he showed the world. And yet she never tired of him. 

Until she did.

* * *

> _ I'll only hurt you if you let me _

As the days away from her bled from one into the next so too did his melancholy into contempt. Hermione was supposed to be stronger than this. She wasn’t supposed to give up on them. Why did everyone else get unlimited access to her, unlimited forgiveness but he was fettered. The extent of her absolution concrete, finite.

Seeking her out while in his current state of mind probably wasn’t advisable but anything was preferable to the yawning maw her absence had created. 

Despite the hour, he knew he’d find her stashed away in the back of the shop she shared with Longbottom and Severus, meticulously researching something or the other that would no doubt add to the absurd profitability of the apothecary that the three unlikely business partners ran.

“What on earth are you doing here, Draco?”

He’d wandered to her office, tucked away from prying eyes and nosy customers without realising, occupied as he was with how unfair the whole thing was.

She looked tired, dark smudges making the thin skin beneath her eyes appear almost purple. The glasses she wore only as the evenings wore on and her load grew heavier perched on her nose.

This was how he loved her best, wrapped in the safety of her passions, buried in a project that lit the fire inside her that illuminated her eyes.

“I’ve missed you.” He knew he sounded as desperate as he felt, but it didn’t matter. None of it did if he couldn’t have her back.

“We can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep letting you do this to me.”

* * *

> _ Call me friend, but keep me closer (Call me back) _

It was hard to accept that there was nothing left of their relationship to salvage and so he didn’t. Getting Hermione to accept that would be difficult to be sure, but doable. It had to be.

* * *

> _ And I'll call you when the party's over _

The party at Blaise’s manor was decadent. There was no shortage of liquor or women or borderline debauchery. Just as it should be to usher Pansy out of her until now, mostly single life and into years of what was to be wedded bliss with none other than Ron Fucking Weasley. That had been a shock to be sure, finding out that for the past several months the red-headed thorn in his side had been dating his dear friend in secret. On her own orders, Pansy had informed him, something about not wanting to convolute things, what with Draco having dated Pansy throughout their teenage years and Weasley panting after Hermione. He couldn’t exactly fault her reasoning. He’d wanted to keep Hermione all to himself when their romance had started.

It made sense now, Hermione’s insistence that they were just friends, would be nothing more than just friends. Afterall, to hear Pansy tell it, it was Granger’s impeccable taste that had ensured her engagement ring wasn’t a gaudy red and gold monstrosity. A beautiful emerald and silver band that he couldn’t help but think would look much better on Hermione’s hands.

* * *

> _ Quiet when I'm comin' home and I'm on my own _
> 
> _ And I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that _
> 
> _ Yeah, I could lie, say I like it like that, like it like that _

Stumbling through the fireplace drunk off his arse was only getting harder the older he got. A crease in the rug sent him sprawling to the floor. He was grateful that Hermione wasn’t here to see the depths he’d sunken to. He’d need to go see her in the morning. Just as soon as he could kick his arse into gear.

* * *

> _ But nothin' is better sometimes _
> 
> _ Once we've both said our goodbyes _
> 
> _ Let's just let it go _
> 
> _ Let me let you go _

The morning after Ron’s engagement party rolled around bright and filled with the snores of far too many red-headed men. In the mayhem, she’d managed to secure herself the coveted position on the lone couch in Grimmauld, many of the others sprawled on the floor and in uncomfortable little mismatched armchairs.

Ron’s words from the night before came to haunt her as she attempted to stretch the bone-deep weariness from her sore muscles.

_ “You ought to give him the opportunity to change Mione.” _

_ “I’m not a rehabilitation centre Ronald. As much as I love Draco, I can’t - I can’t just let him use me.” _

_ “But have you truly given him the opportunity to change Hermione, helped him to understand that he even needs help?” _

_ “He’s not a fucking child Ronald. I shouldn’t have to guide him through his bullshit. I won’t be his punching bag, I won’t.” _

_ “Far be it for me to take up for a tosser like Malfoy but he’s had a rough go of it from what Pans has told me. You of all people know how the war’s fucked us all over. How it muddled things up up here,” he said, tapping the rim of his beer bottle to his temple. _

_ “I’m not saying let Malfoy walk over you, Mione. Merlin knows I wish you’d fallen for any other bloke. Just, you know, if you love him, as you clearly do, help him find the tools to get better, you know?” _

_ A watery smile and a quick nod were all Hermione could manage as Ron engulfed her in a tight hug. She knew that the war had impacted them all psychologically, Harry was still in rehabilitation for his almost crippling PTSD and Ron himself was on a strong dose of antidepressants that her apothecary produced. How it had escaped her notice that Draco hadn’t dealt with his demons was beyond her. Ron was right. She didn’t have to let Draco walk all over her, but she could help him on the path to recovery. Maybe then they’d have a real chance at something. _

Grabbing a fistful of floo powder she called the address of a place she’d had every intention of leaving behind her.

The apartment was deathly quiet. She wasn’t even sure that Draco was there, knowing full well that Pansy’s engagement party had also been the night before. The sound of the faucet down the hall alerted her to his location. He was in their room. Before she could lose her nerve she crossed the distance to the bedroom. She found him propped up on the bed, hand fisted in his blond hair.

His head snapped towards her at the sound, eyes widening in surprise.

“Hermione.”

Her heart thundered against the confines of her ribs at the sound of her name on his lips. It had been so long since she’d let herself think of him. So long since she’d indulged in all that she felt for him beyond the crippling pain at being apart from him.

The sound of the bathroom door opening dragged her attention to her left, to the startled blue eyes of Astoria Greengrass.

“Hermione.”

She’d never known that it was possible to actually feel your heart break. To feel as the tissue and muscle and sinew tore itself apart. Not until now. She was vaguely aware of movement in front of her. Of a tangle of limbs and fabric moving as though through a syrupy haze.

She didn’t trust herself with her words, didn’t trust herself at all. So without breaking Astoria’s gaze, she vanished.

  
  



	2. No Time To Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by No Time to Die by Billie Eilish
> 
> Hermione POV

> _I should have known_
> 
> _I'd leave alone_

It shouldn’t be surprising. It really shouldn’t be. Yet she was powerless to stop the shock that coursed through her, that stole her breath. She was unable to stop the pain. He was well within his rights to move on. She’d left after all. And so he was entitled to move on with his life, with someone else. She had no claim over him.

The rationalisations did little to stem the flow of her tears, to staunch the wound in her chest. She’d apparated away before she could make a further fool of herself. It was pathetic enough that she went crawling back in the first place and expected Draco to have her back with open arms. She couldn’t deal with the embarrassment of him telling her off in front of Astoria. Intruding on their morning had been as much as she could handle. Besides, it had been weeks since things between them had ended—weeks of denying his advances and ignoring the gaping hole where he had fit so comfortably. 

The musty smell of the house overwhelmed her senses, the sparse furnishings covered in a layer of dust and neglect. It had been several years since her parents had died in Australia, victims of a random mugging gone wrong. She’d been unable to let go of her childhood home. And so she had kept the details of her shame from her friends and Draco alike. And so it sat, unplottable and empty but for her sorrow.

* * *

  
  


> _Just goes to show_
> 
> _That the blood you bleed is just the blood you owe_

She supposed that this was the inevitability of their pairing, Draco Malfoy heir to a pureblood dynasty and Hermione Granger, muggleborn extraordinaire. To think that there was anything but heartache to be had from their time together had been foolish. At least that’s what the headlines of the prophet had driven home for the past few days.

Article after article detailing just how appropriate it was that Draco was now keeping the type of company befitting of a Malfoy. While several things had changed in the wake of the war, there was still an inalienable truth, both in the muggle and wizarding world alike. Money was power. Those who had plenty of it made up the ruling class. While it was certainly frowned upon to speak openly of one’s disdain for mudbloods, in practice, things were much the same. Society would never have been content to see them together. Her social standing in wizarding society hadn’t been elevated very much by her status as a war hero. An Order of Merlin couldn’t confer upon her the dragon’s hoard of galleons necessary to be a part of his world.

And so Hermione kept entirely to herself in the wake of the public’s renewed interest in Draco’s love life. An article by none other than Rita Skeeter had speculated that maybe she’d run off with an appropriate muggle boy to live the type of life that suited her in the wake of her humiliation. Hermione had no inclination to prove the story contrary; there was no possible benefit that could be gained from doing so. And so she worked and returned to her parents’ empty house when there was nothing else for her to do.

* * *

> _We were a pair_
> 
> _But I saw you there_
> 
> _Too much to bear_
> 
> _You were my life, but life is far away from fair_

  
  


Severus cut an imposing figure in the doorway to her office. The man was as intimidating as he’d ever been during her days at Hogwarts, the scar on his neck that peeked out from his constricting black robes did little to detract from that.

“Miss Granger.”

“Professor.”

She couldn’t help the smile that twisted her lips at his scowl. It was one of the little joys she got out of working beside the dour potions master, needling him with an array of titles he despised since he refused to address her by her first name despite them being business partners. At one point she’d tried to coerce Neville into the game, but the younger man had withered under Severus’s glare before retreating to his section of the shop.

A flick of his wrist sent a crisp white invitation onto her desk. The smile fell from her face as she eyed the familiar cursive that twisted her name into something lovely. She blinked back the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes before she looked back to Severus.

“I’m afraid I have another engagement on that night,” she said, doing her best to maintain an even tone. She wasn’t a snivelling first year any longer; it wouldn’t do to break into tears in front of Severus. She could keep the floodgates at bay at least until he left and she warded the doors.

“Hermione, you have never needed my coddling, and I do not intend to start now. The Malfoys—as investors in this joint enterprise that we have among us—expect our attendance. We would be wise to be in attendance.” His voice had lost much of the bass that had haunted her childhood, replaced instead by a rasping brittle thing that he rarely used.

Her head felt hollow, Snape’s words rattling around in the cavernous space. Of course Severus was right. It had been a foolish hope, getting out of the yearly gala now that she was no longer attached to the heir.

“Of course, Severus. I’ll respond with our thanks,” she said, a thin smile on her lips.

He said nothing further, instead leaving without so much as a backwards glance. Hermione was helpless to stop the tears that soaked through the delicate parchment.

✳✳✳

It would be the first time in three years that she attended the gala without Draco by her side. The very first one that she had attended had been their first date. Hermione had opted to come without a date. She had every intention of thanking Narcissa for her continued support of the apothecary before quickly making her excuses and returning to the quiet of her home. Never one to be late, she arrived at precisely seven, as the invitation had instructed, flooing from the apothecary. Stumbling out of the floo, she was righted by a strong pair of arms.

“Alright there?” the man asked, a gentle but firm hand at her elbow.

“Yes, thank you. I never seem to get these landings quite right.”

“Well, Granger, I must say I hadn’t expected to see you here. Don’t tell me you brought the muggle bloke you’ve eloped with too.”

Her kindly saviour had turned out to be none other than Blaise Zabini who was now craning his neck behind her comically as though he was actually expecting to see someone with her. She felt blood rush to her face. Of course it would be too much to ask that her evening be simple and pleasant.

Fixing a smile on her face, she extracted her arm from his grip and dusted the residual soot from her gown. She’d refused to take any of the things Draco had gotten her when they’d fought and so had opted for a simple muggle gown. It had thin straps, a cinched waist and a sweeping hemline divided by two dramatic splits by her legs. The only thing magical about it was that it was charmed to be a shimmery champagne colour.

“If everything the prophet published was to be believed, I daresay that must mean you managed to contract syphilis, no Zabini?”

Zabini’s smile in response was all sharp angles and pearly white teeth. “It’s good to see you’ve still got your claws kitten.”

“Hermione dear, I’m so glad that you could make it.”

Turning away from Blaise, Hermione was greeted by the full opulence that was Narcissa Malfoy. Following Lucius’ permanent incarceration Lady Malfoy had flourished, investing in several companies that cropped up in the wake of the war. Thanks to Narcissa, the Malfoys had almost single-handedly revived the wizarding economy in Britain.

“I’m honoured as always Lady Malfoy,”

“Nonsense dear, you know better. It’s Narcissa to you; it always will be.”

“Mother, I—”

The moment their eyes met, Hermione’s heart broke anew. She was back in their apartment, all those weeks ago, him in bed, Astoria leaving their bathroom. He looked good. Healthy. He was doing fine without her. Ron had been wrong. Draco had never needed her. It hurt to know that he was fine without her. That all the pain he’d caused her could have been avoided if he’d wanted to. But he hadn’t wanted to, had he?

Her head swam as panic surged through her veins. Attending the gala had been a bad idea. She turned to Narcissa. “Lady Malfoy, Narcissa, I am, as always very grateful for everything you’ve done for the apothecary, for Severus, Neville and me. But,” she stuttered on a breath, panic scratching at her throat as barely contained tears threatened to spill. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t be here. Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“Hermione, please.”

“Hermione.”

Throwing down the floo powder, she was gone is a swirl of green flames.

* * *

> _Was I stupid to love you?_
> 
> _Was I reckless to help?_
> 
> _Was it obvious to everybody else?_

The crack of apparition had Crookshanks scampering away from the squashy yellow couch. She ripped off the clothes she’d bought just for the gala, tossing them away as she made her way to the bathroom. With a flick of her wand, the tub began to fill, and she climbed in.

It had been so easy to love him when she had finally gotten to know him. She’d always held out a hope that he was more than the facade of wealth and bigotry that he showed the world. She’d been so delighted when she realised she’d been right. He was funny and witty and passionate with a sweet tooth a mile wide. He was charming and thoughtful caring. But underneath it all had always been that undercurrent of anger.

It lurked in his posture when he watched others, waiting for a weakness to strike, in the slate grey of his eyes. It had been alluring initially, his brand of fire. So different from the fire she’d had at Hogwarts but similar in many ways. She’d been warmed by it, allowed herself to thaw in its heat. When she realised it would consume her, it had been too late. They were on a collision course. She’d just been too blind to see it.

  
  


* * *

> _That I'd fallen for a lie_
> 
> _You were never on my side_

She knew the prophet the following day would be almost completely dedicated to the gala at the Malfoy residence. That knowledge did little to prepare her for the front page that was enough to stop her heart. The headline screamed at her from her desk ‘ **MALFOY HEIR READY TO SETTLE DOWN?’** complete with a photo of the handsome couple. Astoria beamed widely at Draco before demurely hiding a blush; a glinting ring adorned her small hands. The looping image caused bile to roil hot and heavy in her gut.

She gripped the edge of the table as she tried to quell her rioting stomach. When that did little to help, she spent a scant few minutes trying and failing to focus on her breathing. It caused her a different type of pain to inform Severus that she would require the day off, but there was no way that she could continue to work in such a condition. The option of calming draughts was available to her, but Hermione was wary of the addictive nature of some potions. If there were an alternative to a potentially addictive potion, she’d always take that first and so a day off, though fundamentally against her work ethic, was an easier pill to swallow so to speak. Rising onto shaky legs, she began the short trip to Severus’ potions lab. 

  
  


> _Fool me once, fool me twice_
> 
> _Are you death or paradise?_

When she pushed open the door to Severus’ lab, she’d been woefully unprepared for the commotion that lay in wait.

“Like hell you’ll keep me from her! She’s my—”

“You impudent child. What she is, or is not to you has little bearing on my feelings towards the matter. Hermione is my business partner, and this is a place of business. You do not show up here and demand to see her because you are unable to handle your personal affairs appropriately. Now get, out.”

Her heart thundered in her chest as she stood rooted to the spot. Both men levelled her with their full attention. Looking at Draco was like looking at the sun, and so she chose to look at Severus instead, doing her best to ignore the source of her impending panic attack in her periphery.

“I’m sorry to intrude; I hadn’t realised you’d be having a meeting with Mr Malfoy.”

“Really, Hermione, this is becoming ridiculous, can we just talk?” Draco said, tone pleading.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath as her traitorous tears attempted to make a reappearance.

“Severus I came to inform you that I’ll be unable to work today due to a sudden turn in my health.”

Her breath hitched as she heard him shuffle closer, the scent of his cologne overwhelming at such a close distance.

“Hermione, look at me, please.”

She wanted to. She really wanted to, but she couldn’t. To look at him would be to confirm that they’d never had a chance, that he’d moved on in less time than it had taken for him to introduce her to his mother. It would mean that she would have to confront the reality that he had moved on because he’d never needed her, and so she kept her eyes closed.

“Very well, Miss Granger, do not return to work until you are capable of doing so.”

She opened her eyes to give Severus a watery smile goodbye but was greeted with sharp features and slate eyes.

“Astoria and I aren’t together, Hermione. Please believe me.”

Hope bloomed bright and hot in her chest, slamming her heart against her ribs before reason could take hold, choking the feeling until it was unrecognisable.

He took another step forward, his hand out to reach for her. She took a step back, brandishing her wand at his chest and shaking her head.

“You’re lying.”

“I swear to you, Hermione.”

But it didn’t matter what he said because she’d seen for herself. Astoria in their bedroom. Astoria and him on several dates. Astoria beaming at him on the front page as her ring gleamed on her pretty hands. But it was such an alluring proposition, the whole thing being a misunderstanding. Except there was no misunderstanding Astoria naked but for his undone shirt.

> _Now you'll never see me cry_
> 
> _There's just no time to die_

“Neither are we.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Each chapter is inspired by a Billie Eilish song.


End file.
